


Take On Me

by creativityandcoffee



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: (the actual death scene is not discussed but the bonfire scene in 4x13 is), Bittersweet Ending, Canonical Character Death, Feels, Gen, I really like this song and I refuse to let the finale ruin it for me, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Short & Sweet, Song: Take On Me (a-ha), Suicidal Thoughts, also tagging this just in case because of a brief comment made in Chapter 7:, just as a head's up, so have some happy Magicians moments to go with it!, we're getting into much angstier territory in Chapters 6 & 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23863996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creativityandcoffee/pseuds/creativityandcoffee
Summary: Why and how Quentin's friends came to associate him with "Take On Me," as presented in seven scenes.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater & Alice Quinn, Quentin Coldwater & Julia Wicker, Quentin Coldwater & Kady Orloff-Diaz, Quentin Coldwater & Margo Hanson, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh, William "Penny" Adiyodi & Quentin Coldwater
Comments: 22
Kudos: 46





	1. Julia

**Author's Note:**

> There will be seven chapters in total, when the fic is complete. I don't have an exact writing timeline, but I'm hoping to have all of the chapters written and uploaded within the next month or so. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> P. S. This fic will end with references to the bonfire scene in 4x13 (references will come in Chapters 6 and 7). I just want to make that clear, in case there are those who would like to avoid reading about that scene.

It's the summer before ninth grade, and there's nothing to do.

Julia lies on her back on the floor of Quentin's basement, looking up at his dad's model planes. She's been tapping out the beat of "Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This)" without noticing it, and it takes her a moment to realize when the record stops. 

"Hey, Q, it stopped playing," Julia says, rolling over on her right side so that she's looking at Quentin. When she realizes that he's reading—which means he'll never hear her, even if she raises her voice—she quietly steps over to him, bends down, and then sticks her face right into the book, looking down at the pages. 

"Well, well, what have we here?" 

Quentin reacts just like Julia wants him to; he makes a surprised noise and accidentally drops the book, right into Julia's waiting grasp. She moves Quentin's bookmark to his current page, so that he doesn't lose his place, and closes the book to look at its title.

"Book one, huh? Are you gonna reread the whole series this summer?" 

After a moment passes, Julia looks up at Quentin, confused by his hesitation. 

"Well, yes. But, I mean, I've actually already reread the whole series this summer. I'm just doing it again." 

"What!" Julia says, her eyebrows shooting up. "Q, it's still June! How did you read them so fast?" 

It takes a second for Julia to notice Quentin's outstretched hand. She takes it, letting Quentin help her get up from the floor, and then hands the book back to him.

"I don't know. I guess I've read them so many times that they're just familiar now," Quentin says, shrugging. He gently (reverently) puts the book down on the table and turns back to Julia. "You've read the Fillory books almost as many times as I have. Do you know what I mean, about how it gets easier to read them each time?" 

"Kind of, I guess," Julia says, frowning slightly as she thinks. "Though I haven't read them again in a year or so, so I can't really remember. Next time I read them, I'll let you know." 

A minute of comfortable silence follows, as Julia and Quentin become lost in their own thoughts.

"Oh!" Julia says, breaking the quiet. Quentin looks at her expectantly. 

"The record. It stopped playing. That's why I interrupted you."

They go over to the record player; Quentin carefully takes out the record they're listening to, flips it over to the other side, and sets the needle down with practiced precision.

"Your 80's music education continues," Quentin says with a smile. Julia laughs and they both sit down on the floor, facing the music.

"I still can't believe your Dad has a record player," Julia muses, before the next song starts up. "It's so cool." 

"I still can't believe you haven't heard most of the songs I've played!" Quentin replies, earnest. "How have you lived your whole life and never heard of Journey? Or Queen? I've been to your house, so I was pretty sure you weren't living under a rock..." 

Before Julia can defend her lack of musical knowledge, the next song starts playing on the 80's Top Hits record they're listening to. As soon as the instrumental starts, Quentin jumps up to his feet.

"This is my favorite song!" he says, grinning. "My Dad just got this record, I wasn't sure if it would be on here or not." 

"What song is it?" Julia asks, craning her neck to look up at Quentin.

Quentin freezes on the spot and stares at her, his mouth open.

"You mean you haven't heard this one either?" he asks, as if he's personally offended by the fact. 

Julia shakes her head.

"Well, at least you're about to hear it now!" Quentin says. As the instrumental kicks up, he starts dancing in place, in that endearingly awkward way of his Julia knows so well. As soon as the first verse starts, Quentin is confidently singing along.

> We're talking away
> 
> I don't know what
> 
> I'm to say I'll say it anyway
> 
> Today is another day to find you

When the chorus starts, Julia thinks Quentin will stop as the notes get higher. But he keeps on singing, becoming increasingly off-key; when he sings along to the final high note is when Julia finally loses it, and starts laughing out loud. 

Quentin is laughing too—and then he's pulling her up to her feet, refusing to let her sit still.

They dance together through the rest of the song; and in that moment, it seems like this summer is bound to be a good one.


	2. Alice

If, when she had first come to Brakebills, you had told Alice that she would actually make some friends here, she wouldn't have believed you.

And yet, as unlikely and outlandish as that sounds, that's exactly what's happening.

Here she is, studying in the library with Quentin, because he had _asked her_ if she'd wanted to join him. Like friends do.

(It would be more accurate to say that Quentin is _attempting_ to study, and Alice is utterly lost in thought, but that's besides the point.) 

She likes Quentin. Yes, he's a bit scatter-brained, and nervous, and awkward. But then, she can be all of those things too. It's not like she has the social grace and self-confidence of Margo or Eliot; despite her composed, self-assured demeanor, she probably understands Quentin's obvious self-doubt better than anyone else at Brakebills.

And Quentin is _kind_ —which is something she definitely isn't, even though she sometimes—and more often now—wishes she was.

In the few short months she's known him, Alice has seen Quentin's overflowing kindness, and its effect on the people around him. Getting a nice word from Quentin is like seeing the sun come out from behind the clouds: it makes the day a little brighter.

Normally, she wouldn't romanticize things like that. But someone as fanciful as Quentin can only be described in fanciful ways. 

_Studying_. She should be studying... 

After a few moments, Alice re-focuses on her surroundings, silently berating herself for getting so distracted. She has a lot of work she needs to get done, and (as always) barely enough time to do it. 

She opens her notebook, takes out her textbook, finds the right page, and settles down into the familiar study of magic. 

For a while, Quentin and Alice simply study in silence, too focused on their work to get distracted by conversation. They find an equilibrium: Quentin turns a page, and writes something down; a minute later, Alice does the same; and on it goes, both of them drawn into the rhythm of their work.

And then, Alice hears music. Familiar music—she's definitely heard that song, but what is it called again..?

 _Charlie_. Charlie used to love that song... 

Searching for the source of the sound, Alice casts her eyes downward and sees Quentin's iPod, and the earbud that he isn't using lying on the table in-between their hands.

(Last week, Eliot managed to sneak in a few older pieces of technology, and he's enchanted them so that they function on the Brakebills campus. All of the tech will likely stop functioning within the week, and so everyone that has a device is getting the most use out of it while they still can.) 

A few moments pass, and when Alice looks up, she sees Quentin's anxious expression. He quickly pauses the music and rushes to apologize. 

"Sorry—I didn't realize this song was so loud, I'll turn it down..."

"Oh, no, it's—" Alice starts, and then stops.

"It's just that, I like that song. I don't remember the name of it—I was trying to figure it out—but I know I like it." 

_And I know Charlie liked it_ , she adds to herself.

Quentin's expression completely shifts at that. He hesitates for a second, and then picks up the unused earbud, handing it to her. 

"Do you want to listen?" 

Alice looks at Quentin, and then at the offered earbud. After a short pause, she nods and takes it up, putting it in her right ear. 

Quentin smiles at her quickly, starts playing the music again, and turns back to his work. 

> ... Shying away
> 
> I'll be coming for your love, okay?

As soon as the chorus starts, Alice remembers everything: the title, the band, the way Charlie grinned whenever he heard it...

She lets herself focus completely on her memories, and (somehow) manages not to cry.

Quentin forgets to take the earbud back from her after the song has faded out, already buried in his work again; but when another song starts playing, Alice decides that it's nice to have the music, and decides to keep on listening. She takes one more moment, one more steadying breath, and then turns back to her own work. 

Remembering that song doesn't have to be painful. Now, it can be the song she listened to with her first friend at Brakebills... and the one that makes Quentin grin just like Charlie used to.


	3. Margo

Margo and Quentin are lounging on the couch, basking in the warm center of their drunkenness. They'd managed to drag Eliot upstairs and into his room before he completely collapsed, but have since stumbled back downstairs and continued talking, not wanting the night to end.

There's not a lot of people that Margo genuinely enjoys spending time with. She can navigate almost any social situation, but that doesn't mean she likes being around crowds of people _all_ the time. Eliot is the same way; he understands. And it was because of his understanding, in fact, that Margo found the first true friend she ever had.

But Quentin is special; he's not like her—rather, he's the exact opposite in almost all respects—but he still seems to understand her. Somehow, in the brief time she's known him, Quentin has unlocked the true parts of her; he's seen the things that she never hides, but which are almost never seen. He's looked at her, really _looked_ at her, and decided that he likes who she is. She has to admit, it's a pretty fucking wonderful feeling.

Not that she's able to voice that to Quentin just yet.

"Hey, Margo," Quentin says, nudging Margo with his foot. Margo stirs, brought out of her thoughts, and turns towards Quentin, leaning deeply into the couch as she does.

"What, Coldwater?" Margo asks. She frowns in concentration, trying to stay present in the moment.

"What's your favorite color?"

Margo blinks slowly a few times, trying to make sure she's heard the question right.

"Did you just ask me what my favorite color is?"

"Yes... is that, uh, bad?" Quentin asks, his voice thick with confusion. He tries to sit up a little straighter on the couch but ends up sinking back down into it, so that his face is on the same level as Margo's. 

"What are we, in middle school?" Margo laughs at her own question as she tries to think of Quentin in middle school. Was he even more shy back then? 

"It's just. I don't know. It's... a question people ask when, when they want to know you better, you know?" Quentin mumbles, trying to justify his inquiry. They're both holding on to consciousness, but just barely.

"Red," Margo says. It takes Quentin a minute to realize she's just answered his question.

"Cool!" Quentin suddenly says, much more loudly than he'd intended. He seems surprised by his own exclamation. Margo can't help but let out a few giggles at the sight of his perplexed face. 

"Yours?" Margo asks, trying to compose herself again but only partially succeeding; a wide smile still stays on her face.

"Yellow," Quentin replies, looking at her intently in his effort to focus. They sit in silence for a moment, while Quentin tries to think of a new question.

"Favorite spell?" 

"The Musical Spell," Margo says, with only a slight pause. Quentin raises an eyebrow, and she realizes he probably hasn't heard of it yet. "It makes people sing and dance randomly. Who needs Broadway when you've got magic?"

Quentin laughs at that, and then thinks of his answer.

"I'll go with The Sumerian Shield Charm," Quentin says finally. "I like being able to create defenses."

Margo nods—she's always appreciated that spell too, despite its simplicity—and the two of them go quiet again, determined to think of something else to ask.

"What about favorite song?" Margo suggests.

Quentin lights up at that question.

"'Take On Me', a-ha," he answers, without hesitation. 

Margo grabs at Quentin's hand; he lets her take it.

"No way! That's mine too!" she says, suddenly very excited. 

"So you've definitely got good taste in music, then," Quentin jokes. They both laugh at the same time, then, caught up in that wonderful moment of realizing someone else appreciates the same thing you do.

Margo starts absent-mindedly humming the opening notes; Quentin joins in, and soon, they're shout-singing out the whole song. Both of them know the lyrics by heart, and somehow, they can still remember all of the words now, in their considerably drunken state: 

> So needless to say
> 
> I'm odds and ends
> 
> But that's me, I'm stumbling away
> 
> Slowly learning that life is okay

The whole time they sing, they look at each other with wide, warm grins, each of them hoping that they'll still remember this in the morning.

(Margo does; Quentin always thought it might have been a dream.)


	4. Kady

As Kady opens the door to the Physical Kids’ Cottage, she hears the strained, stumbling notes of a piano being played by someone who has absolutely no confidence in their musical abilities. 

She walks in, closes the door behind her, and stops to listen. Whoever it is has definitely played piano before, sometime in the past. There’s a melody that’s struggling to break through, but there’s too many hesitations and slightly wrong notes to make it out clearly. When Kady hears the playing stop and someone start muttering to themselves, she knows, without a doubt, that the mystery pianist must be Quentin.

She rounds the corner and there he is, hunched over the keys, staring at the piano in imploring frustration, like it’s hiding a secret he desperately wants to know. When Kady comes over and leans against the side of the piano, Quentin jumps a little. 

“Hey, Kady,” he says. He shifts a little where he’s sitting, obviously stiff from not moving for a while. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“But _I_ heard _you_ ,” Kady replies, raising an eyebrow and almost grinning at Quentin’s now-familiar sheepish look. It’s the one he gives whenever he feels mildly to moderately embarrassed—which is to say, it’s the one he gives almost every single day.

“Sorry—” 

(A typical Quentin apology for something he has no reason to apologize for.) 

“I haven’t played piano since I was a kid, and, well… I guess it shows.”

Kady has two choices now: gently mock him, as she normally would, or seriously ask what he was playing, which she strangely has the urge to do. 

“I could tell you’ve played before, even if it hasn’t been for a while,” Kady says. She looks at him and then back to the piano, noticing the lack of sheet music. “What were you trying to play?”

Somewhat taken aback by her genuine interest, Quentin hesitates before he responds.

“I was trying to figure out ‘Take On Me’ by ear, but… it’s turning out to be a lot more difficult than I thought,” he admits, looking down at the keys in defeat. “I keep thinking I’ve got it, and then it slips away again.” 

Kady gestures, clearly asking for Quentin to scoot over. His face reveals his obvious surprise as she sits down on the piano bench next to him. When Kady subsequently blazes through a four-octave A major scale, hands flying over half of the piano in the blink of an eye, he can't help but stare at her in awe.

“I’ve been playing for a long time,” Kady explains, smiling at the familiar feeling of the keys under her fingers. “And, lucky for you, I actually learned how to play ‘Take On Me’ back in high school.” 

“Really?” Quentin asks, equal parts intrigued and impressed. Kady turns towards him, and he offers up a quick grin. “Well then, I suppose you walked in just in time.” 

“I suppose I did,” Kady says, still smiling at Quentin for a moment longer before she turns her attention back to the piano. “Okay, so, watch what I do, and repeat after me on the octave below…” 

After an hour (or maybe two hours? Kady’s lost track of the time), Quentin is able to decently play the arrangement that Kady had dreamed up in high school. It’s nothing fancy—basic chords on the left hand, bare-bones melody on the right—but it’s fun to play, it’s recognizable, and it seems to be exactly what Quentin is looking for.

The teaching hadn’t exactly gone smoothly—her impatience matched with Quentin’s hesitancy has always been a volatile mix—but they’d settled into a rhythm by the end, with Quentin playing and Kady correcting, until the piece was finally learned.

As Quentin plays through the song for the second time without any help from her, she sees the proud, self-accomplished shine in his eyes, and finds that she’s pleased to have put it there. Maybe she’ll teach him some more songs in the future—that is, if he wants to learn. She misses the kids and classmates she used to teach when she was younger, and Quentin’s a pretty fast learner, as it turns out. 

She suddenly realizes that, when Quentin's focused on the music, he forgets to be apologetic. _This_ is what he's like, then, when he's simply letting himself exist in the moment. If Kady's being honest, it’s kind of a lovely sight. 

As Quentin, still brimming with new-found confidence, finishes the second play-through and lifts his fingers from the keys, Kady makes a request.

“Could you play just the chords, this time?” 

Quentin turns to her for a moment and nods, hoping that he's correctly guessed the reason for her request. While he hadn’t known she plays the piano, he has long appreciated one of her other musical talents… 

Kady starts singing the melody, and Quentin subconsciously adjusts the tempo to be slower, when he realizes the tone she’s giving the song. It’s much more serious—somber, even—than the original version; but it’s also quite beautiful. Quentin closes his eyes so that he can focus on her singing—by now, he knows the chords well enough to be able to play them by heart.

> Say after me
> 
> It's no better to be safe than sorry

Kady looks at Quentin when she sings those lines, and consciously commits the moment to memory. She never wants to forget how peaceful he is just then, with all of his worries drowned out by the music. 


	5. Eliot

Things have been different since Arielle passed away. Eliot misses her presence, her gentle grin and silver laugh. She’d been dear to both of them, both him and Quentin; she had been a bright light and a comforting soul in the first years of their life here, and they had both looked forward to sharing a future with her in it. Fillory, truly, will never be the same without her.

And then, of course, there’s Teddy.

Quentin and Eliot had struggled with how to explain all of this to him. He’s only five years old—he’s still learning how the world works, and certainly has no concept of death. 

Eventually, Quentin had figured out what to say: “Mom had to go away, and now, she’s not able to come back.” While Teddy had still been confused, he'd seemed to understand, then, that he wouldn’t see Arielle again. 

A flood of tears had welled up in his bright eyes, and Quentin and Eliot had hugged him close as he’d started to cry.

A few months on, things are slowly starting to get better. Eliot has officially adopted Teddy (he’s always been thought of as one of Teddy’s parents anyways), and they’re all adjusting to life with just the three of them. Sometimes, they can now go whole days without being weighed down by their loss.

Today, however, is not one of those days.

This morning, Eliot catches Quentin lost in his own thoughts, slowly turning a peach over in his hands. Eliot feels a sharp, familiar pang of sadness as he watches Quentin, whose shoulders are hunched over, seeming to bear all the burdens of the world. Eliot walks over to where Quentin’s seated and gently runs his hand along Quentin’s back. 

“I just finished making breakfast,” Eliot says, moving his hand upward to run his fingers through Quentin’s hair. He’s alway been proud of the way he can make Quentin melt under his touch; he smiles as a soft, contented sigh escapes Quentin’s lips. After a moment, Eliot moves in front of Quentin, and then leans in to place a gentle kiss on Quentin's forehead. 

“Come in, yeah?” Eliot asks. He can't help but notice, as he finds and then holds Quentin's gaze, that the other man's eyes are uncharacteristically dim, robbed of their usual shine by worry and grief. 

Quentin nods and slowly gets up, linking his arm with Eliot’s as they walk back inside. 

The rest of the day carries on as usual. They’re in the middle of trying out a new pattern for the Mosaic, and they both work dutifully with their respective piles of tiles, only stopping to eat a light lunch. Teddy, for his part, switches between helping them lay out the tiles and finding his own projects to attend to, with the most time being devoted to the honorable pursuits of treasure-hunting and bug-capturing. 

Whenever Quentin sees Teddy race by, or his son helps him to place a tile here or there, Quentin glows as brightly as the sun. Teddy and Eliot are the only ones who can make him feel like this, so carefree and joyful and _hopeful_ , all at once. Soon, the dark clouds that were hanging over him earlier start to fade away; by the time the sun sets, he’s almost back to his old self again. 

After dinner, they all sit by the cozy fire burning in the hearth, lounging on the couch Eliot built the year before. It isn’t long before Teddy starts to nod off, leaning more and more heavily against Quentin’s side.

“Looks like it’s time for _someone_ to go to bed,” Quentin says fondly. “Even treasure-hunters need their rest, you know.”

Teddy—too tired to carry on his usual argument that “I can stay up all night, I really can!”—gives Eliot a goodnight hug and lets Quentin lead him to his room. Eliot watches the pair of them as they recede down the hallway, his heart warmed by more than just the fire. Who knew that he, Eliot Waugh, would end up with so much love? With such a family as this one? Most days, he feels like he doesn't deserve any of this; but on his best days, he feels that maybe, just maybe, he's worthy of it all.

When it’s been a few minutes, Eliot walks down the hall and looks into his and Quentin’s room. But as he turns and sees that the room is still dark, he hears a rare and beautiful sound.

_Quentin is singing._

Eliot walks down a little further and enters Teddy’s room. He sees Quentin sitting on the chair by Teddy’s bed, singing as Teddy quickly falls deeper into sleep.

Arielle had used to sing Teddy to sleep, every night. Maybe it was time, now, for them to continue that tradition.

Before he fully realizes what he’s doing, Eliot starts singing as well, harmonizing with Quentin's quiet voice. Quentin looks over at Eliot in soft surprise, his eyes shining in the darkened room.

> Oh the things that you say
> 
> Is it life or
> 
> Just to play my worries away
> 
> You're all the things I’ve got to remember

They continue to sing together for the rest of the song, with Eliot still standing in the doorway. Quentin takes the chorus down lower, so it doesn’t reach any ridiculous notes, and Eliot matches him on the third, impressed with Quentin’s ability to change the melody on the spot. 

When they both stop singing, Teddy is fast asleep, drifting peacefully in the world of his dreams.

Quentin slowly gets up and makes his way over to Eliot, following him to their own room. After closing the door, Eliot pulls Quentin close and kisses him, unable to think of a better way to say _I love you, and I always will_.


	6. Penny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first started writing this fic, I was perfectly on track to finish it in a timely manner; in fact, I planned to have Chapters 6 and 7 published by early June. And then, life—as it often does—got in the way, and I had to set this fic aside for a while.
> 
> However, I am now happy to announce that not only is this chapter finished, but so is Chapter 7, which will be published tomorrow! To those who have been waiting for me to continue this fic: thank you so, so much for your patience. I hope that these chapters prove worth the wait. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Penny stands next to Quentin, looking at all of the familiar faces before him: Julia, Alice, Dean Fogg, Kady... and the _second_ Penny, from Timeline 23. He thought it would be weirder to look at a copy of himself, but honestly, at this point, he’s seen much stranger things. His eyes linger on each face for a moment—who knows when he’ll have a chance to look at all of them again?

Quentin takes a step forward, and Penny instinctively puts a hand on Quentin’s arm, pushing Quentin back towards him. As much as he hates this—as much as he wishes he could do _anything_ to stop this—he can’t, and neither can Quentin. They’re not allowed to interfere; all they can do, for better or for worse, is stand here and watch. 

Penny tries to smile at Quentin, hoping he’s concealing his own personal anger and frustration well enough. 

Quentin just glances at Penny sadly before turning back towards the friends he’s left behind—the friends they’ve _both_ left behind, now.

They watch as Alice throws a mug into the fire. Penny sees something change in Quentin’s expression; the mug obviously has some meaning to him. Penny bites his lip, forcing himself to reserve any comments he might make, and continues watching.

He knows getting upset won’t solve anything—knows that trying to fight the laws of life and death won’t end up well for anyone. But _god_ , how he wishes he could fix this. How he wishes that he could give Quentin back to the people around the fire—that he could bring Quentin back to where the other man _belongs,_ up _here_ , with the living. 

He’d been starting to settle into this new position of his, had started to make peace with his fate. But all of this, Penny has to admit, is making him question things again. 

Kady casts a spell; Penny was too lost in his own thoughts to notice which one, but when he hears the music, he knows the spell at once.

And as soon as Alice starts singing, he knows this is the perfect song to choose.

When the other Penny—the other _him_ —places an egg into the fire, Quentin turns back to him and gives a small smile. Penny returns the expression, sympathy welling up inside of him, and thinks back to a day that now seems lifetimes away…

* * *

 _It’s a sunny, spring afternoon, and Penny’s completely lost in thought. And he’s glad—very glad—that he is lost in his_ _own_ _thoughts, for once, rather than someone else’s. Trying to keep all of this psychic stuff under control has proven difficult, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. Sometimes, it’ll take hours for the voices from other people’s minds to fade away, to leave him in peace, alone once more._

_So he’s enjoying this time while he can, walking slowly and letting his mind wander wherever it wants to, soaking up the tranquility of having only his own worries to think about._

_And then, suddenly, he hears music._

_At first, he looks around for a radio or a speaker, some external outlet for the sound; but he finds nothing there. A moment later, though, he knows that he’s found the source._

_Because Quentin Coldwater, damn him, is sitting a few yard away, hiding from the warm sun under the shade of a tree. His eyes are closed, Penny notices, and his mind is clearly focusing on whatever song is invading Penny’s thoughts._

_Penny feels a familiar mixture of exasperation and ire as he glares at Quentin from across the lawn. Why is it always Quentin’s thoughts that end up breaking in? Why can’t he just have a few minutes to himself, for once in his life?_

_But then, as he realizes what the song is, his annoyance starts to fade. The scowl that was growing on his face is replaced by an almost-smile as he laughs, quietly, to himself._

_The nerd’s brain is playing, of all things, "Take On Me."_

_Penny stands still for a moment and closes his own eyes, honing in on the music instead of pushing it away._

> ... You're shying away
> 
> I'll be coming for you anyway

_Of all the songs Quentin could’ve gotten stuck in his head, he had actually, for once, chosen one that Penny likes. Who would have guessed?_

_As Penny focuses more, he realizes that Quentin’s brain is also flashing through memories as the song plays. He sees a streak of blond hair that must be Alice’s, feels a warmth in his bones and hears Margo’s laugh, looks into the eyes of a little girl he doesn't recognize. Suddenly, Penny opens his eyes, blinking rapidly and pressing his hand into a fist until Quentin’s memories fade out, until just the song remains._

_He doesn’t want to spy on people’s thoughts. He really doesn’t. But listening to a song (and an actually good song, at that) isn’t spying, now, is it?_

_So Penny starts walking down the path again, making sure not to look back at Quentin, and lets the song play out until the end, listening to it fade away as Quentin’s mind moves on to other things._

* * *

Penny stands there, trying to come up with something to say. And, thinking back to who he used to be, he decides to revert to an old-Penny-esque line.

“Appreciate the level of sincere grief, dude. I seem to remember—when I kicked it?—you _laughing_.” 

Quentin laughs at that. And then Penny talks for a little while longer, saying things that he hopes are comforting and sound sufficiently profound to somebody—to his _friend_ —who just _died_. Fortunately, he's still managing to hide his true emotions well—he doesn't want to burden Quentin with his own grief, not while Quentin's already having to deal with the mourning of those sitting around the fire. He thinks about how differently an earlier version of him—the version who hadn't met Quentin yet—would have handled this situation; he thinks about just how much Quentin changed him, in the brief time they knew each other.

Eliot—who came in, along with Margo, during the middle of the song—throws a peach into the fire. Penny sees, then, the tears that have welled up in Quentin’s eyes, and realizes that it’s probably just cruel to let Quentin stand here much longer. He places his hand on Quentin’s shoulder and steps back, trying to lead Quentin away.

“It’s time to say goodbye,” he says. But he knows what Quentin’s response will be before Quentin says it.

“Just… one last look.”

And, of course, he lets Quentin have that. Because how could he not?


	7. Quentin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those of you who have subscribed to this fic: this chapter's for you. Seeing that people were subscribed to get updates is what gave me the motivation I needed to come back to this fic and give it as good an ending as I could. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Note 1: I added the tag "Suicidal Thoughts" because there is a very brief reference to the fact that Quentin is not sure whether his self-sacrifice should be considered suicide or not. This issue was also presented in 4x13, so it's consistent with what's already been established by canon; but I'm of the opinion that it's better to over-tag than do the opposite.
> 
> Note 2: I just want to reiterate the fact that this is NOT a fix-it fic; I'm not changing the ending at all, here. If you don't want to read that kind of ending, I totally understand, and feel free to skip this last chapter.

Quentin is beyond grateful when Penny honors his request; the other man steps back with a nod, and Quentin turns towards the fire once again to watch the small group that is singing for _him_ , that’s sending him off in this final chapter of his life. 

Quentin feels—

He’s not quite sure how he feels. 

(It turns out dying is a very emotionally taxing experience, especially for the deceased.) 

He feels loved, when he looks at the friends who are mourning him; and he feels lost, when he sees Eliot’s face, and reads the pain written there. He feels curious about what the future will hold for him—but also angry that he can’t return to the way things were. He feels anguish and desire, both equally strong; he feels like he’s being torn apart from the inside. 

When he thinks about the choice he made—about the way he died—he still can’t determine, with absolute certainty, _why_ he did what he did. If his action was made out of a selfless instinct to protect his friends, to save the world once again—or if, instead, it was just his way of... if it just meant that he’d finally found the perfect opportunity to... 

He pushes those thoughts out of his mind. He’ll have a whole afterlife to ponder his motivations. 

For now, for the last few moments he has, he lets himself breathe, and cry, and listen to the song, to the crackling fire. 

He can’t remember the first time he heard this song; it was probably on a drive with his Dad, while they listened to the local “70's, 80's, and 90's Top Hits” station (which was the only station that ever played in his Dad’s car—not that he had any complaints about that, except for the times when he was subjected to Kate Bush’s voice). 

But somehow, it feels like he's known this song forever—that there wasn’t a first time he’d heard it, that he was somehow born with it already in his brain. In fact, he doesn’t even remember consciously memorizing the lyrics; he just _knew_ them at a certain point, and he’s never forgotten them since. 

To be honest, Quentin’s not sure why he chose “Take On Me” as his favorite song, initially. When he was first asked what his favorite song was, on the second day of sixth grade, it was simply the song that had come to mind—and ever since that day, it’s always been his favorite, with no other song worthy enough to take its place. 

He decided, later on, that he liked "Take On Me" due to the tonal contrast between the song’s upbeat musical sound and its contemplative, fairly serious lyrics; he recognizes that contrast between the song's outward appearance and its true nature as something—well, as something familiar: as something that exists within himself. And, while he likes the melody, he's always appreciated the lyrics more.

The first verse, to begin with, has always been very relatable to him.

> _We’re talking away_
> 
> _I don’t know what_
> 
> _I’m to say I’ll say it anyway_
> 
> _Today is another day to find you_
> 
> _Shying away_
> 
> _I’ll be coming for your love, okay?_

He’s rarely felt like he knows what to say, to anyone, anywhere; he’s always been so self-conscious, so aware of how he must appear to people, that it makes saying what he wants to say difficult, even on the best of days. Julia, though—he’s always felt at ease talking to her. And, over time, he learned how to talk to his other friends, too: the ones who sang those lyrics only moments ago. 

To him, the second verse is the most optimistic of the three.

> _So needless to say_
> 
> _I'm odds and ends_
> 
> _But that’s me, I’m stumbling away_
> 
> _Slowly learning that life is okay_
> 
> _Say after me_
> 
> _It's no better to be safe than sorry_

He’s always interpreted those words as a call to keep moving, to keep pushing forward, even when everything seems (as it often does, to him) challenging and hopeless. He’s sung those words to himself over and over again, like a prayer, propelling himself onwards through the days when there was no light. _Stumbling_ , he thinks now, with a smile to himself, is the perfect word to describe most of his efforts: forward-moving, but in the clumsiest way possible. 

And then, of course, there’s the third verse—the one that his friends are singing now.

> _Oh the things that you say_
> 
> _Is it life or_
> 
> _Just to play my worries away_
> 
> _You're all the things I've got to remember_
> 
> _You're shying away_
> 
> _I'll be coming for you anyway_

Quentin can’t help but fixate on those lines most of all as he takes in the scene before him. It's always been the most melancholy verse, to him: the one that seems most at odds with the energetic pace and instrumentation of the song. 

_You’re all the things I’ve got to remember_ , he thinks to himself. 

And they are: everyone and everything he wants to remember from his life are right here—so close, painfully so, and yet entirely out of reach. 

He reflects on the memories he’s built around this song, the different moments in time seeming to come back to him all at once: dancing with Julia, studying with Alice, laughing with Margo, playing with Kady, singing with Eliot—

And there was even that time when Penny heard Quentin think-singing the song, though Quentin doubts Penny ever realized the fact that Quentin heard him humming “Take On Me” under his breath as he passed by that day. 

Quentin turns back to Penny—who’s been dead for so long, now, whose world Quentin himself has now joined—and lets himself be led away. And as much as he wishes he could fight Penny somehow, could escape the afterlife and return to the land of the living, Quentin knows, deep down, that that’s not going to happen, that that’s not how this works. 

His friends—his own personal group of mourners—sing the last chorus. 

> _Take on me (Take on me)_
> 
> _Take me on (Take on me)_
> 
> _I'll be gone_
> 
> _In a day or two_

As Penny puts an arm around him, Quentin lets himself look back, just once; and then he turns, for good, away from his friends, away from the fire, wherein the relics of his life are crumbling in the heat. Right before he and Penny disappear, he can hear one last line ring out on the night air, in Eliot’s strong, familiar voice.

> _I’ll be gone..._

“In a day or two,” Quentin whispers to himself.

And then, there’s silence.


End file.
